Favourites
by Rosebud on Royal Icing
Summary: Amrod, one of the twin sons of Feanor ponders about his father's favourite child, his mother's and who his own favourite siblings are. First POV. Angst-y and sad Amrod.


**Author's Note: I posted this fanfic on Tumblr for the Team Feanorians' party week. Anyway, I figured I could post it here as well since after all it is fanfiction. Well, there ya go!**

**My notes on tumblr were: In honour of Amrod, I wrote a short little fic for him. This is almost all purely my headcanon of everyone. I have not finished reading The Silmarillion yet and I am a first time reader so yes, I still don't really know much. I hoped I somehow managed to capture a little something of the Feanorians. **

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><p>Favourites<p>

Sometimes I let my thoughts stray far off of its original tangent and I actually have to take a step back and regain my bearings. It doesn't happen so often but when it does I can honestly say that I feel nothing good inside my body. It is very difficult to be the one born in so large a family where large families such as ours are rare enough as it (amongst our people that is). It is even more difficult to be the last born son. Well, at least one of the last born sons. I neglected to mention that I have a twin but no one really cares for the other half of you when you do not speak or write as one entity. You laugh now at my ideas but it is true you know. No one ever calls out "Amrod!" alone or "Amras!" alone when they need to speak with you. You and your twin are just blended together into one being and they will never separate your names when they are calling for you or when you are in their thoughts.

Sometimes I wonder if it's true when they say the last born will be the favourite of the family. I highly doubt it. Just looking at my own father ensures me this. He is a stern, stubborn and passionate fellow to be sure. His eyes can be sometimes cold yet he can be warm and loving at times. But I know his loving and warm gaze shines the brightest when his eyes lands on my older brother Curufin. Everyone knows he is father's favourite. I wonder if the others begrudge father of his obvious bias for Curufin the way I do. I resent his love for the others sometimes…And that is when my thoughts wander and I tell myself it is no good to feel such bitterness.

Well, everyone knows Feanor's favourite is Curufin but many wonder who my mother's favourite is. I wonder that too for my father's affections for Curufin is made plain for the whole world to see; Mother isn't quite as straight forward as he is with her love for us. Mother…She is ever so sweet and loving. Her warm eyes and kind quick smile never fails to lift your spirits when you are at your lowest and I see that she affects us all the same way.

I let my mind wander the planes of my thoughts a little further on this subject. It hasn't been the first time. Sometimes I wonder which one is mother's real favourite. I noticed that with father, he favours Curufin who is so like him. I liked to think that with Mother it is also the same thing. She would favour those who are most like her in appearance and demeanor. I would like to think, a little selfishly perhaps, that I would be her favourite. I always thought I was most like her in appearance and personality. We share the same hair colour but even beyond that, I share the same eyes, the same straight aquiline nose, the same bow shaped full lips. I also think that my patience and naivety are direct reflections of Mother. Yes, in the deep recesses of my mind I do like to imagine myself as being the favourite of Mother's.

It is not so. I know this when she turns to look at my twin brother Amras. Amras and I are so very alike that at times, we are even able to think the same things and finish one another's sentences. Most everyone think this as a humourous thing. I once remember my eldest brother, Maedhros laughed out loud when both of us had been little and naughty and both trying to lie to get out of the trouble ahead. He laughed and laughed at us, his beautiful laughter ringing clear out into the sky, his eyes, almond shaped and a startling colour crinkled in his clear amusement. His glorious red hair shimmering in the sun, whipping about his handsome face as a gentle breeze blew over us. Amra

s and I had stared at him with awe for he was truly quite wonderful to look upon but more than a sight to behold, Maedhros had in that moment looked so much like our mother.

She came to us when she heard his laughter.

"And why has my firstborn laugh so loud he's set all the birds atwitter?"

Maedhros had turned to her, tears in his eyes and explained to her what he had done.

"Well, I give you your twin sons, lady," he said graciously yet his eyes still had that same tint of amusement, "They are yours to discipline as you see fit, however, if you had heard them when they spoke a moment ago, you'd be giving them a sweet treat for giving you such a laugh!"

Our eldest had turned to us and winked in the most charming manner ever. I remember flushing a little at his words and both Amras and me had bowed our heads and looked fearfully at our mother. We knew not what punishment awaited us but I remember thinking then our mother had looked at Maedhros with such a deep love and admiration that I could never hope to achieve. How could I have so selfishly assumed she would even consider me her favourite?

Sometimes, my mind recollects pieces I've neglected when my heart bleeds a bit too much in my bitterness at not being the favourite. Mother would smile and caress me lovingly when I needed such attentions and sometimes not even when I did. Her gentle hands smoothing my hair, tying little braids in them that only she thought made me look more comely but I had always thought it only made me look prettier. I didn't begrudge her of them though. I loved her too much and when I felt her fingers in my hair, heard her sweet lilting voice, felt the warmth of her hands on my face; I can't help but think, 'Yes, I am my mother's favourite.'

But it is not so. I see her with Amras and she treats him just the same. I really couldn't tell the difference of her love for the both of us. No one ever confused us for which was which for elven eyes are sharp and can detect the most miniscule of details. Everyone knows I have a small beauty mark under my right eye whereas Amras has a beauty mark below his lower lip. Mother had not once got us mixed up but sometimes I think she loved us both the same. And even though that didn't make me feel any worse for she didn't favour Amras more than I, it didn't make me feel any better either. It was as if even she, my mother, could not love us differently. Even she could not love me in her own individual way.

I had asked her once, which son was her favourite. She had laughed at me but when I remained blank and serious of face she indulged.

"I love all my sons equally," she said, smiling at me, eyes warm and so full of love, "I love you just as much as I love Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, and Amras. Only, I love you all in different ways."

I didn't believe her words then. I still don't believe them now.

How can I when I see her happy smiling face shining in its radiance at Maglor when he sang her a beautiful song he'd written for her begetting day? How can I when I see her laugh at some humorous thing Celegorm said? Or when Curufin made her a beautiful bracelet just because he thought hers looked old fashioned and no mother of his was going to wear old looking things. Or when Caranthir tended to her gardens in an attempt to cool his hot temper lest he said something that would hurt her feelings or others'. Or when Maedhros brought her gifts and stayed to talk with her…He'd braid her hair and put little flowers in them and she would smile dreamily as if his tender ministrations were magic…and perhaps they were. But when I gave her something or said something, I always had my twin Amras with me. She would smile and laugh but she'd do so to both of us. I was never the receiving end of a smile that was especially meant for me.

When it comes to a large family, I think you are bound to have your favourites. For me, the obvious choice was my brother Amras. He was my twin and we did nearly everything together. We were practically joined at the hip. Amras loved the outdoors as much as I did but when I would climb trees and chase after wild steeds, he'd sooner curl up under a shady tree to read or write or draw. He had clever fingers and he'd drawn beautiful portraits of which I'd grasp them from his hand and toss them into the air only so he would join me in my running activities. When it comes to my love for Amras, it is as deep as the ocean and as fierce as a wild hound protecting its young. I would die if something were to harm Amras.

The next favourite that I have to Amras would be Maedhros. He is much older than I but there was always something about his charm and wit that always made me love him more than the rest. Also, perhaps because he was so very beautiful to look upon and that his red hair was his best asset which in turn always made me think that I could be just as beautiful as him one day. My brother had a masculine beauty and his hair would glimmer under the sun's rays like glittering rubies under a sheet of gold. Everyone and anyone will tell you that the Eldar are a beautiful people. Fair, tall and strong, we are indeed a beautiful people. But Maedhros' beauty turned heads wherever he walked and those who stopped to look at him were also very beautiful themselves. I had wanted to grow up to be him since he'd first laugh at us when we were little.

Now in the most darkest and desolate moment of my life, I struggle to not let my thoughts linger on the unpleasant. I am awaiting my doom as I know surely it will come. I know I will die on this very day and I think I had already sensed it when we all drew our swords and made that terrible oath that dreaded day. I know it as I know that the sun will rise in the morn and set in the dusk. I know it as I know Curufin was always the favourite of our lord father. What did favourites matter anyway? Would it have changed my fate had I been the favourite? I watch myself get caught with the fire and heard the screams of terror from those around me. We would all die here and it mattered not who was ever a favourite among their kin. Because we were all kin.


End file.
